


skate my heart across the line

by seventhstar



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Holding Hands, Ice Skating, M/M, Post-Canon, aka yuuma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:30:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mizayuu holding hands while ice skating plus a bonus smut scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	skate my heart across the line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadowymagix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowymagix/gifts).



Mizael distrusted the strange human practice of skidding around on a sheet of ice balancing on a pair of steel blades immediately. Ice-skating, it was apparently called, and all around him human children and adolescents and adults were crowded into the rink, dressed in bulky clothing, pushing past him excitedly to lace up their skates and risk their necks on the ice.

How had he ended up here?

The answer was pathetic, humiliating — he was lost, as always, both in the human world that was now the only world he had, in his own body (there were too few secret places where he could shed his flesh and change), in his own mind, full of darkness and starlight and warring dragons. He didn’t feel the cold the way the humans around him did, and so they gave him second glances as he walked to the glass fence around the rink, and watched them fall and rise, glide and stumble, the slick ice shining.

Who was he, and why was he here, and what was the purpose of it all, of being left to find his way in this place? Everything about the human world that had belonged to Mizael the dragon tamer was dead. Everyone he loved was gone, Draggluon reduced to a Numbers card, and while the other lords were adjusting — Durbe had Merag and Nasch, Alit and Gilag were accustomed to the human world already, Vector was gone — Mizael was not. He didn’t know what he wanted.

He remained in Heartland only because it was the only place he knew.

“Hey!” A hand tugged at his sleeve, and Mizael jerked his arm out of reach, furious that anyone would dare to touch him — but no, it was only Yuuma Tsukumo. The Astral’s human. The one who’d saved them all, in the end. The Master of the Code.

Yuuma looked harmless — wide eyes and an easy smile, and if he noticed Mizael was scowling at him he showed no sign of it — and he tugged again lightly at Mizael’s sleeve.

“I didn’t know you ice skated!”

“I don’t.”

“Oh.” Yuuma blinked at him. Then he looped his arm with Mizael’s and started to lead him over to the counter where the skates were stored. “No problem! I’ll teach you!”

“You’ll teach me,” Mizael repeated. He’d seen Yuuma get overexcited while dueling, do three black flips, and then fall flat on his face.

“I learned from my mom,” Yuuma explained as he threw some money over the counter and received two pairs of skates. Mizael followed him over to the benches and watched him struggle to lace them on; when Yuuma looked expectantly at him, he realized he’d have to put his pair on.

It seemed foolish, to skate with this human, when Mizael did not want to skate at all, or to look at Yuuma Tsukumo and be reminded that he could never return to to his former existence. And yet Mizael remembered the fury of Hope’s power, when Yuuma had won against Don Thousand. He supposed there were worse ways to spend his time, human who were far more unworthy of his attention.

He put the skates on, and Yuuma put their things in a locker, and then it was time. It was awkward to walk while balancing on the thin metal blades. Mizael was gratified to see that Yuuma was worse at it than he was.

They stood in the entrance to the ice. There were so many people, Mizael thought; would he ever get used to crowds? Even before, he’d been isolated, with only dragons for company. He was nothing like Yuuma, who Mizael had never seen alone.

Except for now — and he’d found Mizael, hadn’t he?

“Here.” Yuuma took Mizael’s hand in his own and stepped out onto the ice. “I’ll teach you, okay?”

Mizael looked at him. Yuuma squeezed his hand.

He followed Yuuma into the rink.

+++++

Mizael looked lonely.

That was Yuuma’s first thought when he slipped into the ice skating rink, alone, to celebrate his mother’s birthday the way he always did. The Barian Lord was standing by himself outside the ice, arms folded over his chest. People gave him a wide berth, perhaps because of his intense glare or his weird clothing. He looked alien, dressed in a jeweled vest with long blond hair and red facial markings in a crowd of people with scarves and marshmallow jackets and gloves.

No one looked at him and he looked at no one. It made Yuuma’s heart hurt just to see him, Mizael who he’d seen light up with power in battle, all alone.

There was nothing to be done but to invite him to skate with Yuuma until he cheered up. If Yuuma’s mom were here, he thought, she’d do the same thing.

Mizael had nice warm hands, even though the rink was chilly enough that Yuuma regretted not wearing gloves. He had long fingers, too, and he skated beautifully. Probably Yuuma could have let go of his hand, but Yuuma’s fingers were cold and Mizael smelled good if he skated in close, and Mizael didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, Mizael’s long hair fluttering as he skated and the way he tugged Yuuma along firmly, graceful slashes of silver against the ice, was very distracting, so distracting that Yuuma maybe wasn’t paying attention to where he put his feet and normally Yuuma was a good skater but normally he wasn’t trying to subtlety skate closer to Mizael and —

“Ah!”

Yuuma toppled over, and Mizael’s skates skidded loudly across the surface of the rink as he caught Yuuma in his arms. Yuuma clung to the front of Mizael’s vest for a moment while he got his bearings — Mizael smelled good up close — and then he pulled away. He looked down, face red, until Mizael made a noise of irritation and pushed off again.

Yuuma followed him, and after a brief moment, Mizael reached back and grabbed his hand again.

“Why are you here alone?”

“Eh?”

“The rest of the humans here are in groups.” Mizael gestured around at the rink.

Yuuma noted the children, clinging to their mothers and laughing, and shivered in way that had nothing to do with the cold. He could have asked any of his friends to come and they would have, of course. It wasn’t about that. There were always people around him, and so there wasn’t much time to miss his mom and dad.

But Yuuma wanted to miss them, sometimes, even if it hurt, so he’d never forget how much he’d loved them.

“Today’s my mom’s birthday.” Yuuma said. He skated closer again, heedless of the danger, so that no one else would hear. “She liked to skate.”

Mizael looks uncomfortable, like he doesn’t want Yuuma to know he’s pitying him, and Yuuma squeezes his hand.

“She liked dragons,” he added, remembering his mother’s ancient fairy tales, collected form every trip for Yuuma’s ears, told to him under the stars and in caves and while he had the flu in bed. His mother would have liked Mizael, who was straight out a legend, a dragon tamer reborn again and again, a bright and lonely star.

“…I met Draggluon when he was still an egg.” Mizael said heavily. “At that time, I was a child and didn’t know what he was…”

+++++BONUS SCENE+++++

Yuuma walks him home, and Mizael tells him stories the whole way, all of Draggluon and Tachyon spilling out of him together. It is all blurred together from him — Draggluon gold in the sunlight, twined around him on cold nights and Tachyon’s howl that twisted time and space — and the tales don’t come out in any order.

But Yuuma is rapt as Mizael tells him the tale of baby Draggluon’s first flames, and of how he hunted Tachyon throughout the galaxy, and it has been a long time since Mizael has told these tales. Oh, the other Lords know about Tachyon, and they know something of Draggluon, but Mizael has never told anyone everything, all at once. It isn’t in his nature.

Yuuma listens wide-eyed, clinging still to his hand even when they’re on solid ground again. Truthfully, as the city around them falls silent and they wander into a dark part of town, Mizael can feel the weight of all the stories he has told. He doesn’t want the night to end, to have to feel the loneliness that led him to spill his heart to this human, to have to watch Yuuma walk away, shoulders bowed with the weight of loss.

He tells Yuuma the way Draggluon died while they stand outside Mizael’s front door.

“How did your mother die?”

“She went looking for my dad.”

“And?”

“She found him.” Yuuma smiles wryly. “They were stuck on the other side, though.”

Does it ease the pain, to hear Mizael tell his tragedy? Or it is Mizael’s pain Yuuma is trying to ease, by taking on the weight of his life?

“…come in.” He grabs Yuuma by the arm and pulls him into the dark house, past the kitchen where Mizael makes himself eat, up the stairs into the room where Mizael dreams, and he scoops Yuuma up and lets him fall to the bed.

How fragile he looks — too fragile for grief, for Mizael’s losses.

“Shh,” Mizael whispers, and he slides atop Yuuma on the bed, so that Yuuma is beneath him, all trembling flesh and coarse fabrics and soft breaths. Mizael kisses his way down Yuuma’s throat, over his pulse, down over his shoulder as he tugs his shirt aside. He slips a hand under Yuuma’s shirt, where his heart is pounding, too large and too hard.

“Mizael?”

He silences Yuuma with his mouth, so gently it’s hardly anything at all, but Yuuma buries his hands in Mizael’s hair and draws him down when he tries to pull away.

“Are you lonely?”

“Are you?” Mizael asks.

Yuuma doesn’t say anything, but his grip on Mizael’s hair tightens, and when Mizael moves, gets his knee between Yuuma’s thighs, Yuuma’s breath stutters.

The space between them is nothing, not when Mizael gives in and rolls over and crushes Yuuma against him. Their legs tangle and their hips lock together and Mizael’s tongue ends up in Yuuma’s mouth; there is a rhythm there, in their grinding against each other, and Mizael matches it to the thump of Yuuma’s heartbeat against his own.

In this moment his body feels like his own.

It’s nothing like the soul contact of a Barian body or the brief joining Mizael enjoyed once before, when he was someone else — this belongs to him, now, something that can only exist because he’s died and returned on the strength of his conviction. Yuuma presses against him, sweet friction between their bodies, warm —

— and that is all that Mizael can take, and they both climax at the same time, as Yuuma’s hand finds his again in the dark.

The room is so silent; then Yuuma’s breath evens out, and he is asleep in Mizael’s grasp. Mizael lies there beside him, wondering if the sound of Yuuma’s lungs will ease his nightmares, if maybe it is possible, after all, that he can exist in this city of humans where he knows nothing after all.


End file.
